The Unholy People I Fell In With
by The-Great-Catsby
Summary: He finally gets a good look at his attacker. He's a good foot smaller than Dave with brown hair that's brushing his ears. His eyes are blue like the ocean and violent like the waves with a quiet intensity that is unusual to Dave. Kurtofsky, RDR/Glee AU


Wholesome was not a word that David knew well. He knew of it and maybe in a time more innocent he practiced the definition of such a word. He has no meaning to, no right to call himself a good man.

He isn't.

One cannot call themselves a good man when their chaps are washed in blood and their supper paid for in innocent souls. So David doesn't call himself a good man, but a man who has sinned and he doesn't say much more. People called him a recluse, a quiet intense man of thirty who kept best when he was most alone.

Maybe it was that cold solidarity that drew David Karofsky to the banks of New Austin much like a moth to a traveler's lantern, looking for some glittering beacon in the putrid tar pits that he called his life. Not much long ago he had made up stead in in the dusty rooms over the saloon in New Lima, a small but bustling little jewel in the the west's crown. Lima was made up by nothing more than whores, cheats, and farmers- but David found that he didn't mind it so much.

Then Dave thinks, much to his chagrin, that he is a liar, a cheat, and whore. So he stays because this was his personal hell, he belonged here. These beggars, slaves and prostitutes were his people- his brethren just waiting for Charon to ferry them all to hell.

So he let his time roll over him like waves on the shore, wearing at him and his face much more profoundly than he had wanted. His face, although handsome as many harlots had told him, was at places worn like fine leather and marked with the dignity of hard work and sweat. His hair was short and brown like the dirt he had tread many times over and the eyes held an almost wild edge to them: Sharp, angry, focused.

Dave Karofsky sat up in his room, feet propped on a stand, meticulously cleaning his Caroline repeater when he noticed that the air of the saloon had changed. It was more lively and the people downstairs were much louder than they ever had been.

He puts the large gun down (he's a cautious man though and notes that he still has his pistols holstered to his leg) and exits into the hallway. He bumps into a few people who were crowded around the rooms either talking to the prostitutes or trying to get into their own. His shoulders hit against a small woman and she falls to the ground. He scrambles to pick her up when he notices who it is.

"Miss Brittany, my apologies." He says as he hoists the small girl to her feet. Her corn colored hair has been knocked out of her bun and her cheeks are flushed with the heat of midday and a small rivulet of seat drips down her brow.

"David-" She coos, her voice high and airy like sugar. "Have you seen them?"

Miss. Pierce, although sweet, was known for being a bit daft in the head. "Who?"

"C'mon, They are so cool!" She grabs his hand and pulls him through the throngs of poorly dressed workers loitering in the narrow hall. It was an odd feeling, her thin hand felt so weak around his own. Down the stairs, around the corner and into the bar where people filled up every corner.

"Miss. Pierce, what the hell is going on?" He looks around the dimly lit room distractedly before continuing. "Schuester can barely rub together two customers to get a third."

"There not here for the ale." She sing-songs. She points over to a small alcove where ornately dressed people, travelers, stood.

"Who are they?"

Brittany shrugs. "Charity told me they were gypsies, but they don't look like any gypsies I've ever seen."

David smiles, the wrinkles around his mouth crinkling slightly. "When have you seen any gypsies? I doubt you've ever left Lima." She smiles and snuggles closer to the older man.

"My mom told me my dad was a gypsy." She answers proudly. Dave thinks that Brittany inherited the job of prostitute from her mother, so he highly doubted that her dad really was a gypsy.

Dave craned his neck to look at the travelers. Among them were four women and a young man that could almost pass for a young girl. He was standing next to three much taller men. There was no rhyme nor reason to their looks, their dress, their ages, or anything else.

A beautiful Spanish woman with dark eyes and a strong brow walked to the small stage that had been set up in the back of the bar and ascended the few steps gracefully, her orange skirt that hit around her ankles floating gracefully.

Dave felt Brittany lean her head gently against his arm and bemoan quietly "I wish I looked like that..."

The Spanish woman's voice was loud and it carried well across the bar, but it was also sharp and cold. "We are here to sing for you and we hope you enjoy it." The rest of her friends (team, colleagues, associates?) walked onto the bar. A blond girl with innocent features leaned over ever so slightly and whispered in the Spanish woman's ear. The woman smirked, the corners of her dark lips twisting up wickedly.

"Well- that was the plan. But we just a heard a rumor you don't tip your performers very well so I guess were doing this the hard way." Suddenly their were gunshots ringing around the bar like bell chimes. A few people standing around the bar fell over.

1, he counted, 4, 8- all of them shot dead and falling to the ground. The Spanish woman had pulled a dragoon pistol from an ornate inner-thigh holster made of fine leather and was picking off people around the bar. A few of the people who were standing with her had went to find cover and shoot from behind various overturned tables.

Dave pulled Brittany down underneath him as they slammed against the floor for cover. He dragged her with him to the bar when suddenly her loud voice rang out in a scream. She flailed slightly as her hands flew to her thigh.

They reached relative cover behind the bar where they saw Schuester, the bartender and shop proprietor, slumped dead with a bullet through the side of his head. Red blood had smeared across his forehead and has pooling down his shoulder and dripping onto his rolled-up sleeves.

A few bar patrons had been able to run out the swinging front doors and onto the street, screams could be heard from upstairs as harlots and johns ran off onto the balcony and down onto the street.

Dave pulled the girl closer to him so he could examine the damage. "You need to staunch the blood-flow." His whispered as he tried to ball her dress together around the entry-site.

"I'm going to die, I knew it." She blubbered out as she writhed around on the floor in what was excruciating pain.

"You are going to be fine, but you need to be quiet Miss. Pierce." He shushed as gently as he rough voice could manage. He pulled his pistol from off his leg and poked his head from around the bar.

"I'm looking for David Karofsky." The Spanish woman announced, her armed hand falling to her side as she addressed the room. "If you can tell me where he is or if you are able to find him for me, I will let you go."

David sighed and attempted to stand before Brittany grabbed his arm. "You can't..." He shushed her and tried to give as reassuring a smile as possible.

He stands to his feet, his heart beating like a tin drum and the blood that ran though him was racing in his veins. "You should have said something earlier. You wouldn't have had to go through all this trouble." His arm is outstretched towards her, his finger sitting lightly on the trigger. She doesn't look alarmed, only pensive. Her gun hangs at her side.

"Are you David Karofsky?" She inquires coolly.

"What happens If I am?" Karofsky challenges, his eyes like steel and glaring daggers at the girl, now idly wiping her hands of gunpowder on the front of her embroidered blouse.

It's then that Dave feels it, the cool steel of a gun, more specifically the barrel, being pressed to the back of his neck. It's cold, hasn't been fired yet and it's shaking slightly.

"If you say yes than I shoot you." The voice is distinctly boyish yet feminine at the same time.

"And If I say I'm not the man you are looking for?"

The boy behind him gives a nervous laugh. "Then I'll know your lying."

Dave let out a short bark of a laugh. "Then why haven't you shot me yet?"

"Shut up!" he yells much louder than necessary. "Do you know of a Burt Hummel?"

Dave is quick to respond "I don't know a man that wouldn't- Best gunsmith around...My dad bought me my first pistol from him." It's a truthful answer and Dave wonders where the lad behind him is going with his train of questioning.

"Did you kill him?"

It's a simple enough question to answer. "No."

A surprisingly strong hand grabs his shoulder and forces him around, Dave's gun clattering to the floor in the process. He finally gets a good look at his attacker. He's a good foot smaller than Dave, with brown hair that's brushing his ears. His eyes are blue like the ocean and violent like the waves with a quiet intensity not usually held by boys that looked to be about his age. He could have passed for either a beautiful young women or a handsome young man, but wither way Dave's heart started to run along even faster, and he wasn't sure if that's because he was standing unarmed with a gun pressed to his nose or something else entirely.

A/N: Short chapter, but I just needed to get the prologue done. I didn't want this to be extremely long, the whole story may only be 5 chapters long. Inspired by blameitonkarofsky on tumblr.


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